


The Colors of the World

by olympicmaelstrom



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enjolras-centric, Enjolras/Grantaire-centric, Grantaire-centric, M/M, Pining Grantaire, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, but those last 3 are only mentioned in passing, i saw this au concept on tumblr and thought les mis, it's really just enjolras and grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:41:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23171863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olympicmaelstrom/pseuds/olympicmaelstrom
Summary: Canon-era soulmate AU where everyone has a black "Stain" on their skin where they will first make physical contact with their soulmate. It bursts into color once this contact occurs. Grantaire is painfully aware that his Stain matches Enjolras's.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 121





	The Colors of the World

I.

Enjolras’s Stain covered his palm and crept onto the back of his hand.

Feuilly had asked about it, once. It was the only time Enjolras ever yelled at an Ami besides Grantaire. “My Stain should be on the soles of my feet! I have no soulmate save for Patria, save for the ground of the Republic I walk on!”

The Musain had quieted and no one ever spoke of Enjolras’s Stain again.

II.

Most people attributed Grantaire’s shirts, which were consistently too big, to his nigh-permanent state of drunkenness. In fact, it was an attempt to hide his Stain.

“I don’t have a Stain,” was his casual response to Jehan’s prodding. “I’d need a soul to have a soulmate.”

Courfeyrac liked to joke that Grantaire would meet his soulmate when they offered to braid his thick black hair.

Truth be told, his Stain had identical placement to Enjolras’s, though his was on the opposite hand. Grantaire could never be sure where his knowledge of their status ended and his genuine attraction began. It didn’t matter, though, because his soulmate scorned him.

III.

“He is the leader! Finish him!”

Enjolras was cornered.

He had gone into the Musain to look for survivors. Of course, there were none. It had been an act of denial. He had seen many of his friends die in front of him. Except for Grantaire, who still slept. Slept! He was no better than the people of Paris who had abandoned them.

Would Grantaire survive the night?

Why would Enjolras care? It didn’t matter. He would die now without having done anything of note. Anything to aid his beloved Patria in her time of need.

“Vive la République!”

What?

IV.

While Enjolras had fought, Grantaire had slept.

He’d drank himself into a stupor, fully aware that his Apollo would die here and even more aware of the Stain still covered by his sleeve that would never be anything more than an ugly black blotch on his skin. He would never hold Enjolras’s hand, because the leader in red was too busy believing in a revolution that would be the cause of his friends’ deaths.

But even his stupor seemed attuned to Enjolras, as he awoke to a shout of, “He is the leader! Finish him!”

Grantaire moved faster than he’d ever moved before. “Vive la République! Vive la République! I am one of them!”

He faced the National Guard. “Finish both of us in one blow.”

In that moment, he saw with perfect clarity the meaning of his Stain. “Do you permit it?” he asked, pushing back his sleeve and holding out his Stained hand to Enjolras.

V.

Enjolras’s eyes widened at the implication. Inexplicably, he was the soulmate of the one person who always doubted his cause...

His cause which, he supposed, was failing. But he felt certain it would create ripples—he wanted so desperately to believe it would. He needed his death to mean nothing in the grand scheme of change. He needed to know he would be a martyr who would inspire the masses to rise up as they hadn’t tonight.

Well. There were no martyrs without sacrifice. Enjolras looked again at Grantaire, almost in awe. Of all the sacrifices made tonight, that of the leader in red was not the greatest. Grantaire, who never even believed in the revolution, chose to die beside Enjolras when he could have lived. Perhaps they truly were soulmates, then. Enjolras smiled softly. In that case, there was only one thing left for him to do.

He took Grantaire’s hand, and at once their intertwined palms were aflame with vibrant color. He would face death bravely, at the side of a man who, despite everything, was willing to die with him and give him comfort in his last moments. In a final act of defiance, he raised the red flag in his pocket with his free hand. Red. A color that wasn’t on his hand. But soon it would be.

_The colors of the world are changing day by day..._


End file.
